All That Could Have Been
by Sandcest
Summary: No relationship is ever perfect, and no relationship can ever have the full concent of everyone. However, when that relationship's with your own brother, someone's bound to find out sooner or later. (GaaTema; Sandcest. One shot.)


It was strange the way she felt around him; a breathless anticipation deprived her of her sanity, whenever he was there against her. The first few times it had made her sick, but after a while she had learnt to keep it down. Yes, as time went on she forced herself to keep the vomit down in the pit of her stomach, but the nauseous feeling still lingered in throat, taunting her senses. That was just the initial stage however, and sometimes she caught herself thinking of it as almost… normal.

Almost.

At first the only relief that Temari had in her mind that it wasn't her fault. There was nothing consensual in the way she felt, or the _things_ that they did. Gaara was simply taking what he wanted from her. But no. It was something much more sinister than that. During the dry desert nights, her knees huddled up to her chest as she tried to find some sort of comfort between the empty sheets, and only discontent murmurs escaped her lips once she finally fell asleep. Upon waking, she dully realised that she missed him; that she _wanted_ him. Her feelings were just that simple. The situation, however, was not.

Whenever her fingers clasped gently she was reminded of the sheets on his bed; they weren't as worn or as scruffy as hers. They didn't yet have that familiarity of the owner's scent or shape tied into them, nor did they serve a purpose. And why should they? It's not like he ever slept, was it? The first time she ever went into his room, she was so shocked just to see a bed. It seemed ridiculous the way that she just stopped in her tracks, staring at a bed, of all things. Maybe he had it there to make him feel normal. Maybe he hoped that one day he would be able to sleep in it. Maybe, maybe.

Temari had seen Gaara in ways that no one else ever would. No, not just Gaara, she thought bitterly. Gaara and Shukaku.

Sometimes she could see it was just Gaara in her arms, looking disturbingly vulnerable. His pale green eyes would shimmer in the dim moonlight as his pale fingertips glided over her receptive frame, and the incoherent mutter that escaped him when their lips pressed gently together were evidence of a deep flowing feeling.

Other times it was different. He would sit there, physically shaking- twitching, even- something inside him boiling up. The contact was rough; not unemotional though, for there was clearly one state overriding all others. Lust was the taste on his lips, lust was the touch of his hands, and lust was his every movement. This new found state of elation acted almost as a substitute to the blood that Shukaku ached for whenever Gaara dared close his eyes.

Of course, as with most things, there was an in between. The two inhabitants of the one body would swirl together, deluding the host's mind. Was he a monster? Where all the village people right? Why couldn't he stop the demon seeping in? These were the times when he felt, and looked, most fragile. Curled up, head between his knees and hands clasping his throbbing head. It hurt him physically through mental torture, and sometimes he forget just what it felt like when his heart didn't burn so.

"I love you," Temari would meekly whisper into his ear as she caressed his dark red hair, letting the strands slid through her fingers. Those three simple words seemed to be the only cure, and those three words were something he had been denied all of his life. Until now.

Tonight though, Temari was fairly sure she was with her brother, and no one but her brother.

The two figures sat a small distance apart, perked on the edge of a bed. There was a slight smell of ramen dominating the air, a meal that Gaara had taken to during his visits to Konoha. A half empty bowl of it had cooled on his desktop, after being abandoned at the arrival of the Kazekage's sister. Like the rest of the room, the desk was fairly simple. There was no clutter, and it looked seemingly normal at a first glance. Normal that was, until you noticed the dark purple tranquilising drugs that lay around it. Medication for Gaara had been Baki's idea at first, and after persuasion he had began to take them.

It was nine, maybe ten, at night. The lights were on, illuminating the room fairly well, but there was still a gentle chill entering the room.

Temari smiled contently down at her lap, aware of the eyes that rested on her. Her smile could easily have been mistaken for nervousness, in the same way that that feet tapped erratically against the carpeted floor.

"Are you alright?" Gaara asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

His question had been in reference to the fresh scrapes and bruises that riddled the perceptible parts of her body. As a Jounin, she took her training even more seriously than before, and these minor injuries were common place. Still, the concern in Gaara's voice meant something to her.

Letting out a slight laugh under her breath, she turned to face him. A nod gave him the answer her sought after, and this was enough incentive for his arms to wrap around her waist, forcing her onto the bed a little more. Any awkwardness between them had been long dispelled, and although unexpected, any sudden movements seemed… natural.

The clean sheets folded to fit her form, and the mattress strained a little under the added weight of Gaara who had now positioned himself on top of her. Somehow his hands had found their way up her shirt, and pushed it up to reveal the whole of her stomach. The first two fingers on his left hand pushed through her fishnet top, and rested there.

Breaking the silence between them, Temari spoke, "they're just wounds from my last mission, Gaara, I…"

These words were cut short though. Gaara obviously heard and took them in, but he didn't respond. At least not in a verbal manner. His attention was now on the afore mentioned wounds, and his fingers traced along the contour like cuts. There was simple fascination that he seemed to have with them, and it was almost a ritual for him to trace all the imperfections over her body; imperfections he knew he could never have.

Before long the feeling was not enough. What he really wanted was the taste, to feel the sensation in his mouth. There was a slight sting as his tongue whipped out, pressing forcefully down on her warm skin. A slight sound escaped the back of Temari's throat. It was a sound that Gaara enjoyed to hear; a sound he enjoyed making.

Gaara was surprised when he felt Temari's hand on his shoulders, pulling him up. Having not gone too far into his ritual to be "lost", he obediently pushed himself up with him arms, so that he was once again atop her.

From here he clearly saw the problem, as if she herself had told him in plain words. Written into her eyes was the weary look of exhaustion, complimented perfectly by the dark bags that hung from them. The roar of annoyance Shukaku gave out in the back recess of his mind did not reflect his feelings. Yes, he was disappointed, but he was not angry. He lowered his head to the crook of her neck, nuzzling it there with a child like naivety.

A silence followed. It was not an uncomfortable one, and neither Temari or Gaara found themselves struggling to find something to make petty conversation with. Smiling to herself, Temari wrapped her arms firmly around her brother, letting their legs entwine as they lay on the bed.

Gaara now bought his face to Temari's. His cheek was perfectly smooth and icy cold, and made her shudder when they first made contact.

"Temari…" he muttered into her ear, barely above a whisper, "I want to sleep."

Simple words like this always made her feel the worse. How long he sat there and watched her sleep she wasn't sure, but she knew he did it. What's worse, he probably did it with a sense of envy. Her shuddering this time wasn't caused by his cool skin, but by her own unsettling thoughts.

Shaking them from her mind she reached up and casually brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. She wasn't sure how to comfort him with words, and so affectionately placed her hand on the side of his face. Of course, it was no compensation for sleep, but it helped drive away some of the loneliness.

He closed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to use the feeling to linger in the dream world. The coldness was creeping into the room even more now. It was also darker, and although well lighted, the room was slightly dimmer. The long forgotten ramen smell was once again invading her sense, making her more aware of her surroundings.

Things always happened so swiftly, and almost without you realising what was going on, Temari thought. One minute you were laying there, body against body and mind within mind, floating in a soft tranquillity, but that was soon enough changed.

It was strange, the way you could become more aware of someone when your eyes were closed. When relaxed, you could feel a person's chest rise and fall as air flooded into them, and you could hear their shallow breathing as they exhaled. You could feel their breath too, and you could feel the way it made your skin tingle. Each and every person, whether you realised it or not, had their own unique smell, and with your eyes closed you could let that sense override all others. And if the situation was right, it was possible to taste a person too.

That's what Gaara thought, anyway.

Never had he been able to place what Temari tasted like. Even as the taste lingered on his tongue, there was no way for him to comprehend it. So quite simple he concluded that Temari tasted like nothing.

The next few moments were a blur. Temari wasn't sure who had initiated it, but inexplicably their lips were forced together. They barely touched, as was always the case at first, and the light friction that transpired when they came together sparked off a sudden and desperate want. Now it seemed ridiculous to Temari that she had denied him earlier.

Gaara wasted no time in deepening the contact, and Temari felt herself submissively parting her lips for him. The bodies shifted quietly together, and the kunoichi felt her tongue push through at almost the same time as his. What almost seemed like a battle –pleasurable, yes, but a battle none the less- for dominance took place as their tongues entwined, both shuddering at the strange contact.

There was a victorious grunt, almost like a laugh, from the Kazekage when he realised he had won _this_ time. Temari, unsure what to do as Gaara explored her mouth, teasing the back of her throat, let out soft whimpers, driving him onwards.

Even if she had wanted to, the Sand-nin would not have been able to open her eyes. Not that that would have prevented what happened. In this state of momentary bliss, they were both lulled into a sense of forged security, letting them –or rather, _forcing_- them to forget about the outside world.

The sand, it seemed, had not only learnt to accept Temari, explaining why it did not react, even when the dull "thud" of books against the floor pulled the siblings apart.

In the few seconds that it took Temari to sit up and turn around, every possible situation ran through her head. Gaara too panicked, but nothing could have prepared them for who stood in front of them. Not even the worst scenarios that lurked in the backs of their minds could have prepared them for the reality.

Kankurou.

The silence was almost painful. Temari wanted to speak, to yell out, to explain herself. But of course, there was no explanation- Kankurou had seen, Kankurou _knew_ the disturbing truth. Even though it seemed Gaara had never fully grasped the magnitude of the situation before, his fingers subconsciously dug in the bed covers as he shook, and only becoming worse when he heard his sister's breathing increase.

What hurt the most wasn't the way he yelled, or the words that he hissed. It was the look on his face before the screaming began. He didn't look angry, nor did he look upset.

He looked sick.

As sick as Temari felt now.

"Gaara…" he began to stutter out, "what were you doing?"

What was **Gaara** doing! Oh yes. Gaara had been on top, so it was _obviously_ his fault. Besides, Temari thought bitterly, the red haired boy was the only "monster" here.

"I said what were **you** doing to Temari?" The way he spoke was slow, almost as if it pained him to talk, and it was disturbingly calm.

No response.

The sand's trust, it appeared, had been badly placed in the puppeteer, and so there was nothing to protect Gaara when a hand unexpectedly lunged forwards. Even now, as he was pinned against the wall, bleeding slightly from his mouth, the sand only hovered around. Over and over he repeated his question, pushing down on his pale neck every time he didn't get an answer.

_Why do I have to justify myself?_

"Kankurou, let him go!" Temari half-screamed, half-pleaded.

However, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Now Kankurou's hands grasped the collar of his younger brother's shirt, pulling him closer to his face. All this time Gaara remained silent, too confused to say anything.

_What did I do wrong? _

"Please, stop it Kankurou," she choked through tears, "you're hurting him… let him go!"

It was a rush of screams, cries and punches. Temari grabbed onto the back of Kankurou's shirt, trying desperately to pull him off.

"Stop defending him!" he hissed, "I saw what he was doing to you."

With one manoeuvre he pushed her back, knocking her against the bed's head board. Gaara only flinched when he saw the pain cross Temari's face, and tried to move towards her. In his new found numbness let him off-guard, and Kankurou's fist met with his face.

_I only loved her…_

"You… you _sick bastard_."

This time, it was Gaara who snapped. His own brother insulting him… his sister, curled up in fear… it was all too much. The sand once again obeyed its master, wrapping around Kankurou's ankles, pulling and anchoring him to the floor. He protested, screaming furiously, but at the same time coming to his sense. He didn't know what had possessed him, what made him think he could possibly beat the Kazekage. Yet there he was, blood smearing his perfect white skin, and bruises that looked as if they had been burnt into his neck. There was no way he could grasp fully what was going on. Why hadn't he defended himself? Why did he looks so… so… exposed?

Maybe there was something deeper to all of this. His eyes widened in shock when he saw Gaara, the last person he could have imagined, crawling over to Temari, gently resting a hand on her face. He pulled it up, so that teal and onyx eyes met, paying no regard to the painted ninja who watched in shock. There was a silent understanding in the way that they looked at each other, and with a slight no Temari looked shamefully towards Kankurou.

She avoided eye contact the best she could, but it was no use. Kankurou still heard the words.

"I-I'm sorry. It wasn't just Gaara, it wasn't his fault," her words were jumbled, and her speech wasn't well constructed.

But by now, Kankurou had had figured out what was going on.

"I… love Gaara. Not like a sibling, Kankurou, not like I love you. I _love_ him."

Silence. The silence returned again. It was more judgemental than anything Kankurou could have said, and Temari bit down on her lip to control the trembling it. There was barely any pain as she pierced the skin, and now Kankurou's eyes fell on her.

His voice was dry and sharp, and there was no understanding in the way he spoke.

"You're fucking your own _brother_."

Those were his last words before he turned away, knocking the pile of books –perhaps paper work he had bought for Gaara- as he walked out. There was nothing left for him to say; there was nothing left for any of them to say. All that remained was a tattered replica of what once was a family, and three shattered minds.


End file.
